


darling, so it goes

by celaenos



Series: clark keeps kara au [1]
Category: DCU (Comics), Supergirl (TV 2015), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Family Feels, Gen, Motherhood, Parent-Child Relationship, Parenthood, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 12:06:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13294524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celaenos/pseuds/celaenos
Summary: Clark shows up still wearing his suit—the sixth and final attempt—holding tight onto a little girl’s hand and looking terrified. The same symbol from his ship is displayed onto her odd looking clothes. Martha takes one look at the pair of ‘em and then goes to see if they’ve got any lemonade in the house.





	darling, so it goes

**Author's Note:**

> i don't really know what this is, exactly. mostly i wanted to get into martha's head a little, and i've wanted to do an au where kara stays with clark & the kents for ages. so... this is what happened from that?? i dunno. it's a mixture of stuff from the comics, smallville (as far as lois goes, esp), supergirl, and my own headcanons. hope you enjoy!

She’s just about two weeks shy of her thirtieth birthday when the storm hits.

The news has been telling everyone to hunker down for days. Says it’s gonna be a big one, tornadoes, hail, flashfloods—the works. They get the few animals that they own safely into the barns, make sure they’ve got plenty of food and water, and stock pile the house—everyone in Smallville is out stockpiling their houses.

But not everyone finds a goddamn spaceship on their way home.

The storm is kicking up something awful, and the truck starts sliding across the road. Jonathan’s white knuckling the steering wheel and gritting his teeth, and Martha’s got a tight hold on the handle above her head. Something shakes the whole damn world and the sky lights up.

Doesn’t look like any kind of lightening that Martha’s ever seen before.

Jonathan does his level best, but they slide right off the road and into the ditch. Martha gasps from the shock of it, the seatbelt digging into her collarbone sharply, her head aching from where it’s knocked against the window. Jonathan coughs, wild panic in his eyes as he turns and looks her over. “Marty…”

“I’m fine,” she shoves at her door, half falling, half jumping out of the truck. “I think there’s something out there.”

“What?” Jonathan kicks out at his door, jammed tight, unmoving. “Martha!”

She ignores him. She does that a lot. If he’s yelling, he’s gonna be fine.

Her head’s still ringing, but she manages to drag her way over to the crater that’s still smoking a few feet away. She gasps when she peers down into it, and hears Jonathan coming up behind her. “Martha, don’t just—” he drops down beside her “—Jesus. What the hell is that?”

Martha turns and checks him over quick-like. Satisfied, she kicks one leg down into the crater. “I’m gonna find out,” she says, and slips down in before Jonathan can grab her.

“Goddammit,” he mutters, and slides in after.

The winds are kicking up, and the rain’s starting to get heavy. The mud makes her slip and Jonathan lunges, catching her. “Thanks babe,” she says, then crouches down and pokes at the… ship is the only word that comes to mind, looking at it, she doesn’t know _why_ exactly. It doesn’t look like any kind of ship that she’s ever seen before, but then again, she saw it flying through the sky only a few minutes before. “Something’s in there,” she says, looking for a way to pry the thing open.

“Martha, be careful,” Jonathan warns.

“I’m always careful.”

“You are _never_ careful.”

He’s not entirely wrong.

Martha pokes at everything that marginally resembles a button while the rain starts turning into hail. Jonathan helps after a minute of huffing, and Martha finally notices the way that he’s favoring his left arm a bit. _Shit._ She smacks at the thing in frustration and then the top of it starts _glowing_. Jonathan reaches over and hauls her away with one arm, the two of them falling back into the mud, and then the whole top of the thing shifts off.

There’s a goddamn baby inside.

“Holy shit,” she breathes.

“Holy shit,” Jonathan mutters.

Thunder cracks in the distance, so loud that Martha jolts and the baby _screams._ Martha jumps forward, tugging off her coat and picking him up, wrapping him tight and making useless shushing noises against the sound of the thunder.

“Come on Marty,” Jonathan leaps up out of the crater, holding a hand down and helping her scramble up with the baby in her arms.

“Jonathan,” she looks back down, “the ship.”

“ _Martha,_ we can’t—” he takes one look at her face and shuts up. Groaning he slides back down and starts tugging at the hunk of… whatever, slip-sliding against the mud. “I can’t do it by myself,” he grunts.

“Hold on,” Martha runs back to the truck, tugging her coat around the baby and setting him down on the floor, in case he gets any bright ideas about rolling around on the seat. She runs back into the hail, wincing as a big one cuts at her cheek, then jumps down to help Jonathan push the massive thing up out of the ground. Together, they manage to drag it over by the truck, and manage to get it into the back of the truck bed. It takes more shoving to get the truck outta the ditch, but they manage, and they weren’t going fast enough to do any real damage.

The storm sure as hell is starting too, though.

“Get inside Marty,” Jonathan says, and kicks the engine back into life as she pulls the baby back up into her arms. He’s still screaming something terrible, legs and arms kicking out wildly, and nothing that Martha does seems to help calm him down.

They try to outrun a tornado, with a truck that’s older than the both of them combined. Martha has no unearthly idea how the fuck they manage it, but they do. Jonathan shoves the ship into the storm cellar ahead of them, and they run inside, gasping for breath.

“He’s got to be freezing,” Jonathan says, looking at the squirming mass in her arms warily.

“He’s actually kinda hot,” Martha says. Despite trying for the last couple of years, they haven’t had any luck conceiving, and if she’s being honest, Martha sort of knows jack all about babies. She pushes him into Jonathan’s arms and digs around for something better to wrap the baby in. By the time she turns back around, Jonathan’s got him quieter. “Fucking hell,” she mutters.

“Don’t curse in front of a baby Marty,” he scolds, pretending to cover his ears.

“Fuck off,” she says. Jonathan grins at her; the wicked one, that means he’d like to rip both of their clothes off first chance that he gets. She smirks back at him, and tosses him the clean shirt. “Put him in that,” she demands, then does start tugging herself out of her clothes, but not for fun reasons. “I think I cut my leg.”

He glances down at her once she gets out of her jeans. “Not too deep.”

“How’s your arm?”

“Hurts,” he grins. “How old do you think he is?”

Martha squints at the bundle, Jonathan’s finally got him wrapped up in the t-shirt in a way that looks comfortable. He’s getting quieter by the minute, but he’s still crying. He’s not pink enough to be a newborn, and he’s kinda big, but Martha really doesn’t know what’s the average size for babies. “Maybe a couple of months?” she guesses. “Maybe more?”

Jonathan laughs. “Real specific.”

“You’re the one with siblings.”

“Yeah, but I was a kid too,” he protests. “I wasn’t paying attention to stuff like that.”

“Well, you shoulda been,” she reaches out for the baby and Jonathan hands him over. “Fat load of help you are.” The baby’s got a shock of black hair, and Martha rubs at it, gentle. She might not know much about babies, but she knows they’ve got soft spots on their heads when they’re real little. The baby looks up at her, amazed almost at the sensation and Martha gapes down at him.

“What kind of language do you think this is?” Jonathan asks. Martha looks up from the baby. Jonathan’s climbed up on top of the spaceship, squinting down at the symbols that are etched into the metal. Or, whatever material it is—doesn’t much feel like metal. Doesn’t much feel like anything Marth’s ever seen.

“Alien,” Martha says, real simple.

Jonathan looks up and meets her eye. He glances back down at the ship, then over at the baby, then back up at Martha. “Shit,” he mumbles.

“Yeah,” Martha looks back down at the baby in her arms. From goddamn outer space. “That about sums it up.”

…

…

The storm ends up helping them out. The power goes, the roads flood, and everyone’s locked in their homes and shelters for weeks. No outside communication with the world other than finagling with the radio.

Nobody coming around to ask where the hell they got a baby that fell out of the damn sky.

The whole town knew that they’d been trying for kids; small town, everybody knows everybody’s business, just the way it goes. The last doctor they went to said it wasn’t likely to happen; her uterus, his sperm count, just wasn’t a great mix, in the end. They’d been disappointed, but not on a soul crushing level, more of a ‘well, that’s that then.’ Jonathan was always worried that his DNA would betray him, and he’d end up being like his daddy, which he couldn’t _stand_ the thought of, so Martha knew that a little part of him had been relieved.

A little part of her had been relieved, too. It’s not that — she likes kids, a lot actually. They’re goofy, and they say what they think without shame, and they give fantastic hugs. She just wasn’t sure how good she’d be, day in and day out with one of them constantly depending on her. What if she fucked it all the way up?

She still thinks about that, a little, while she is looking down at the baby in her arms.

“So,” Jonathan says, sitting down at the kitchen table.

“So.”

He stares down at the baby, then back up at Martha. “Are we gonna call child services? Or…” he trails off, the baby kicking and reaching his hand out, grabbing hold of one of Jonathan’s fingers. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, and she knows, in the moment, that they’re both doomed. “We should call him something. Even just… for now.”

“Space baby doesn’t do it for you?” she teases.

Jonathan laughs. “That’s…” he turns and looks over at the ship, face going somber. “People might react. The government might… Marty, this isn’t a small thing.”

“I know,” she looks down at the baby, and she swears to god, the little thing smiles back up at her. It does something horrible to her stomach, like the time she looked over at Jonathan and just _knew_ ; they eloped, two months later. “Clark,” she whispers. “We could call him Clark.”

Jonathan looks up at her in surprise. “Your maiden name?”

“It’s a good name.”

He smiles, Clark still gripping at his finger. “It is,” he locks eyes with Martha. “But that means… are we really gonna do this Marty?”

She looks back down at the baby—at Clark—and Jesus, now she can’t think of him as anything else. Now, he doesn’t feel like some random baby from goddamn _space,_ he feels like _theirs._

“I guess so,” she says, looking out the window at the spaceship. “We’re gonna need to hide that though.”

Jonathan turns around. “Among other things.”

…

…

They bury the ship in one of the fields, takes hours. The storm’s let up quite a bit, but it’s still making itself a goddamn nuisance. By the time they’ve checked on all of the animals, and dragged themselves back inside, they’re dead tired, and Clark’s been sound asleep for ages.

“What are we gonna feed him?” she asks, looking at the makeshift crib that Jonathan’s worked up.

“Applesauce?”

Martha squints over at him.

“Well, he looks big enough,” Jonathan shrugs. “Don’t babies start getting solid, or, I dunno, regular food at a couple of months old?”

“Does he even _eat_ human food?”

“Are we _sure_ that he’s not…”

Clark sneezes, and half the blankets in the room shoot up into the air.

“Fuck,” Martha says. “That’s gonna be harder to hide.”

Jonathan flops back down onto their bed. “Our kid’s an alien.”

 _Our kid._ Martha can’t help smiling. It still freaks her out, but it’s got a damn nice ring to it.

…

…

People in town look at them a little funny when they say that Martha gave birth during the storm. For one thing, she wasn’t anything even close to showing a few weeks ago, for another, the baby clearly looks a couple of months old.

Thankfully, the Kents are well liked in this town, now that Jonathan’s daddy is long gone, and a cute baby ends up being a pretty great distraction. Clark himself staves off most of the gossip with nothing more than a goofy smile.

And god, her boy spends a hell of a lot of time smiling.

 _Her boy,_ she’s still getting used to that. Still getting used to the way that he eats everything in sight, or breaks things that a baby shouldn’t be strong enough to break, or hell, she swears to god, (though Jonathan still doesn’t believe her) she looked up and saw him _floating in the air_ one time.

It takes a while, but the three of them settle into a weird little routine as the months go by. Jonathan gets up at the crack of dawn, feeds Clark, and takes him out to the barn while he does his chores so Martha can get some more sleep. Martha keeps him later in the night, taking him downstairs and dancing quietly in the living room until he drifts off, so Jonathan can get to sleep earlier. They hire a girl to help out at the general store in the mornings, and Martha comes in during the afternoons, Clark in a sling across her chest. His smiles make their customers hang around a bit longer, dig into their pockets a bit deeper, and damn, maybe they shoulda found a spaceship years ago.

It’s not just customers who get wrapped around his unbreakable little finger, Martha is completely done for—Jonathan too. Clark’s happy giggle can make her go from a shitty mood to a great one in a matter of seconds, and she’s never seen Jonathan smile like this before.

It’s a shock, to them, to the town, but like most things, eventually it just becomes their lives.

So does cleaning up after the things that Clark breaks. His sheepish little, _whoops, sorry mom,_ face as he moves to try and help becomes a regular fixture as he grows.

It’s not like they had a whole hell of lot of it before, but they quit buying expensive things until Clark gets a bit older, more in control of himself. It ain’t exactly _easy_ raising a boy who fell from space, but it gets _easier._

Of course, then her boy grows up, comes home asking Martha to sew him a suit and starts tryin’ to save the whole goddamn world.

The girl shows up not too long after, and Martha’s not altogether surprised.

…

…

Clark shows up still wearing his suit—the sixth and final attempt—holding tight onto a little girl’s hand and looking terrified. The same symbol from his ship is displayed onto her odd looking clothes. Martha takes one look at the pair of ‘em and then goes to see if they’ve got any lemonade in the house.

“Hi sweetheart,” she smiles down at the girl, passing her a cold glass.

She eyes it warily, but takes a sip after a minute, her manners kicking in despite the shock of everything. Her little face pinching at the mixture of sweet and sour. She says that her name is Kara in a tiny whisper, and pushes the glass away once it’s empty.

By the time that Jonathan’s come in from the barn, Clark is outta his suit, and no one is thinking much about lemonade anymore.

She’s been stuck for twenty-five years. This little girl has been floating around in space for _twenty-five goddamn years_ thinking that she was gonna wake up somewhere safe and have to figure out how to take care of her baby cousin all by herself. She watched her whole world burn up in front of her eyes, and now she gapes over at Clark, dressed casual in jeans and flannel, his thigh bouncing away a mile a minute with nerves, and it’s like he’s something foreign to her now.

She was expecting a baby, and instead, she gets Martha’s son.

He ain’t _all_ grown up though and he’s never gonna be, not as far as Martha is concerned. Clark corners her in the barn and paces, running his hands through his hair and getting more and more erratic with each passing minute. He’s blabbing, which in all honesty, happens a hell of a lot more than he likes to admit—especially now that he’s got Lois to combat with.

“What about Lois?” he asks. Damn, he’s starting to burn a hole through the barn floor, and that’s gonna be a bitch to patch up, so Martha reaches out and whacks him with the shovel. “ _Mom!”_ he gapes.

“It didn’t hurt you and you know it,” she rolls her eyes, dropping the shovel back down in the hay. “Don’t give me that look.”

“I only just told her that I’m Superman two months ago! What am I gonna do now? Show up and say, _‘oh, also meet my twelve year old cousin, she’s gonna live with us now.’_ I can’t just spring that on her, how is that fair?”

“Clark—”

“—and how am I going to take care of her anyway? I’m swamped at the Planet as it is, and I’m only now just starting to get the hang of balancing everything with being Superman—”

“ _Clark_ —”

“—and what do I know about taking care of a twelve year old girl anyway? Or an alien for that matter? I mean, I have all these powers but I don’t feel like—”

“CLARK!” Martha shouts.

“—an al—” he swallows, stopping where he is and turning around sheepishly to finally look at her.

“Firstly,” she hums, “you could listen to your mother. Who happens to know a thing or two about unexpectedly finding a kid from outer space.”

“Ma…”

Martha holds up her hand, then points at the loft. “Sit,” she orders.

Clark sits.

Absently, Martha wonders just what Jonathan and Kara are getting up to in the house, but she decides to focus on one problem at a time. Jonathan is a smart man, he’ll be just fine.

“Take a breath. Panicking isn’t going to help anyone, least of all that little girl. We’ll figure it out Clark.”

He nods, but he’s still going all jittery, like when he was eleven and the heat vision kicked in, and he was afraid to look at either of them for days. He’s petrified with the enormity of it all. If she’s being real honest, Martha is a little bit too. But it won’t help Clark any to say that, so she sucks in a breath and walks over and cups the sides of his face. God, he still looks so young. Twenty-five isn’t very old at all. Twenty-five is barely anything.

“We’re going to figure it out,” she repeats.

He finally looks at her like he’s seeing her, and Clark rattles, just for a moment, clinging to her. Then, he pulls back, sucks in a breath and meets her eye again, every bit the Man of Steel they’re calling him on the news.

“Yeah, okay,” he keeps nodding as he stands, growing calmer with each passing second. “Okay.”

“Okay,” she agrees.

They walk back into the farmhouse side by side, Jonathan and Kara look up from the book he’s been showing her in unison, and Kara gives them both a tiny smile. First real one that she’s given them since Clark brought her here.

Damn, Martha’s stomach does the horrible thing again. When she looks over at her son, the crinkle of dimples slipping onto his face, she can tell, it’s happening to him too.

Damn babies falling from outer space with smiles like that, anyone would be done for. Can’t blame ‘em.

…

…

Kara is real quiet, for the first few months. Skittish and colt-like, trying to walk on her baby limbs that aren’t used to this type of air, the weight of this gravity, this yellow sun that cranks her every sound and touch and taste up to eleven. It’s much worse for her than it ever was with Clark. He grew up used to it, slow; she’s thrown in the middle of it after twelve years getting to know a different soil. Different air. Different sounds.

It’s almost like having another baby, just a quiet, larger, smarter one, who takes a bit more convincing to get her into your arms, properly. 

Clark has been living near full time in Metropolis for going on four years now. The city is too overwhelming for Kara. When Clark flies her to his apartment with Lois, Kara starts wailing in agony, a sensory overload that has Clark panicked as he grabs her and flies her back home faster than he’s ever moved since the day he learned to fly.

“I didn’t—she just—” he swallows thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing while he paces in front of her.

“Clark,” Martha directs, sharp-like to get his attention. “Go get her a glass of water then go help your father outside.”

Clark’s head jerks into a nod, and he flashes in and out of the kitchen in a few breaths. He hesitates in the doorway, watching as Martha rubs slow circles with the palm of her hand, over and over across Kara’s back. Clark walks out to the barn.

“I’m sorry,” Kara croaks.

“Don’t be,” Martha tells her. “This is how I wanted to spend my afternoon. Jonathan doesn’t cuddle enough these days. Clark hasn’t in years. This is exactly what I wanted.”

The smile that she was edging for pulls slowly into the corners of Kara’s mouth, and the tightness in Martha’s chest loosens, just a bit.

By the time that Clark and Jonathan finish their chores and tentatively make their way back into the house, Kara’s sitting up and breathing regular, munching on cookies that Martha made earlier. The crease between her eyebrows matches Clark’s, and for the first time since she showed up, Martha sees the familial resemblance between them. It stops her in her tracks, and both of them whip around and look at her, sensing the way her heartrate ticks up, she supposes. Martha smiles at ‘em both real quick, covering up her surprise. Kara accepts it, turning back around to her pile of cookies and laughing when Jonathan tries to sneak one. Clark keeps his eyes trained on her, frown deepening.

He corners her after dinner, makes the excuse that he’s helping her do the dishes. Well, if that’s how he wants to play it, fine. Martha pushes him in front of the sink and hoists herself up onto the counter, sipping at her tea.

“Have at it,” she urges.

Clark scrubs at a plate, suds working their way up towards his elbows and he breathes out a slow, long breath. “She can’t live in Metropolis,” he discerns. “Not now, at least. Not till she’s able to control her hearing.”

“Yup,” Martha agrees. Clark’s hands grip around the wet, slick plate. “Don’t you break that,” Martha warns. “It’s my favorite one.”

Clark rolls his eyes, smiling as he sets it down in the rack to dry with an exaggerated gentleness. “This isn’t your favorite,” he says. “You hate this plate. When Dad bought this set you threatened to smash them for a week straight.”

“They grew on me.”

Clark snorts.

“Ma,” he says, face going grave again. “I… the Planet is in Metropolis.”

“I’m well aware of that.” He sighs and Martha takes pity on him. Quits dragging it out. “Clark, she can stay here.”

His fingers grip the sink too hard, but he doesn’t crack the metal. “She’s my cousin though,” he says. “I should—”

“You will,” Martha says, firm. “When she’s ready. When you’re ready.” Clark’s eyes bore into hers and Martha smiles at him, reaching out and brushing black hair out of his eyes. “You need a haircut,” she hums. “Go get my scissors.”

“Ma—”

“No arguing.”

Kara sits up at the table and watches as Martha trims his hair. Johnathan making them hot chocolate and chattering away about nothing of import, just a low comforting hum filling up the room. Part of Martha wants to tell Clark that he has got to move right back home, keep him in her sights at all times, but she knows it’s no use. They tell Kara together, the three of them. She goes stiff as a board and Clark’s eyebrow crease goes as deep as Martha’s ever seen it. She might get her wish—whole family under one roof again—but Clark would be doing it out of panic and guilt, and as much as Martha worries, she knows that he’s thriving in Metropolis. Clark coming home now holds nothing much more than an unkept promise to himself. An unfinished thought, a song abandoned after only a measure. Martha slides up beside Kara, giving her ample time to move away before tugging the girl into her side. The stiffness remains, but it lessens, a little.

“Big cities are overrated,” she says, Jonathan nodding agreeably as his sips his coco. Clark harrumphs. “Clark comes round all the time,” she says, towards his direction. “He just won’t admit how much he misses the farm out loud.”

Her boy rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling and nodding at Kara, and the stiffness to her shoulders is going away.

“He learned to control his powers here too,” Martha adds. “Best place for it.”

Kara rolls her head up towards Martha, eyes boring into her, far more serious than a twelve year old’s eyes should ever have to be. She nods. “Okay.”

…

…

The thing about kids from outer space, Martha has learned, is that they help you stop worrying about being attached to material things. Clark broke everything in sight. It was a hell of a lot easier though, to chase around a toddler when she was in her earlier thirties, than it is to chase around a preteen in her mid-fifties. Motherhood is a lot different this time around. For one, Kara distinctly remembers and misses her mother, and isn’t really looking for a replacement. For another, Clark felt like a very strong, very special human boy who happened to sometimes come across as a bit alien, whereas Kara feels like an alien, who happens to sometimes come across as a very special human.

School is hard for her. Harder than it was for Clark, and at first, Martha doesn’t push the issue when Kara tries to stay home and help Jonathan with the farm instead. The day she gets up and heads down into the kitchen, nursing a mug of coffee while she watches the pair of ‘em out in the barn, Kara laughing as she lifts the side of Jonathan’s truck up out of the mud—she realizes that it’s been over a month since Kara’s last gone to school.

That won’t do.

Kara’s not happy about it when Martha tells her over dinner that she’s going back the next morning, but she goes, after Martha gives her a long look, Jonathan mumbling agreements into his soup. Something about the track team, something about friends her own age, nothing that’s gonna excite Kara none. Not really.

She comes home the next afternoon sullen and quiet. It takes some finagling, but Martha gets it out of her by the time they’ve got dinner on the stove. When she mentions the name Julie Mackey, Martha doesn’t slice open her finger, but it’s a near thing.

“Mackey?” she asks. “Like, Abigail?”

Kara shrugs, warming up Martha’s tea some to practice using her heat vision. She’s improved tremendously—she picks up on tricks much faster than Clark.

Something that she likes to remind Clark of, every time he visits. He takes it in stride, unless Lois and Kara gang up on him, then he looks to Martha helplessly, beggin’ her to at least be on his side.

“I’m on both your sides,” she always declares, walking into the kitchen and leaving ‘em to it.

“I don’t know,” Kara says, about Abigail. “I think her mom’s name is Melanie.”

“That’s Abigail’s daughter,” Martha breathes. “She used to go on and on about her back while Jonathan and I were trying for a baby. We spent all of high school trying to one up each other,” Martha leans down, whispering conspiratorially. “I ended up with two kids who can fly, though. So I’m pretty sure that I win.”

Kara’s face splits into a grin, and it lasts all through supper, growing bigger when Clark and Lois fly in to join them as they’re finishing up with the Planet for the day.

…

…

Kara’s got a deft handle on her powers by the time that summer rolls around. And she knows how to swim in the lake now, too.

She sunk like a goddamn stone when Jonathan first threw her in. Entirely hard, compact muscle, nearly gave Martha a heart attack as she watched Clark dive in, dragging her back to the surface sputtering. A word or two on the finer points of buoyancy, however, and Kara was lapping Clark by the afternoon, Lois cheering her on from her place on top of the diving rock.

It seems like the time for transitions, easier to start a new school for a new year. Metropolis High and the room that Lois and Clark had been using mostly as an office calling Kara’s name.

She hesitates, sitting down next to Martha on the porch swing, looking at her hands instead of at Clark’s face, standing on the steps and knitting his eyebrows together. Martha’s palm slides towards Kara’s knee, patting, gentle-like till she hears Kara suck in a thick breath. Martha suspects that she can sense Clark’s own hesitation. Martha sure can, and she doesn’t have any sort of enhanced powers, unless you count twenty-six years of motherhood. Watching his every facial tick as he grows, slow, into the man that’s standing in front of her now.

 _God,_ he still just looks like a boy, most days. Martha wonders if that’s true for anyone other than herself.

“We can do whatever you want Kara,” he says, looking at Martha for confirmation. She nods. “If you like it here, you can stay. If you want to come to Metropolis, then we’d love to have you. Whatever you want.”

“Regardless, I expect everyone to be here for dinner at least three times a week,” Martha hums.

Kara releases a breath at that, and she leans in to Martha’s side, holding onto her as she says, real quiet-like, “I think I’ll go to Metropolis. Just to see?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Jonathan claps. “Now, I coulda sworn that I smelled pie earlier?”

“You’d be right,” Martha says, giving Kara one final squeeze before she hoists herself up and walks over towards Jonathan. “Come help me cut it,” she directs, leaving Clark, Kara and Lois out on the porch for a bit. Give the three of ‘em some time to get used to each other’s company.

…

…

Clark flies home sometime around eleven-thirty, long after Martha’s gone to bed. She wakes with a start, some sort of sense that only ever came around after they found him. When she tip-toes downstairs, trying not to wake Jonathan, he’s sitting there in the middle of the kitchen, staring off at nothing.

“It’s late,” she muses.

“I’m sorry,” he says, then bursts into tears.

Martha tugs him into her arms, rubbing at his back while he cries. She demands to know if Kara and Lois are alright before doing so, and he nods in affirmation, even as he cries—so things clearly aren’t perfect, then.

“I’m screwing everything up,” he cries.

“You’re not.”

Truth be told, she doesn’t know that for sure. Clark has been tentative with Kara since the moment he found her. Martha isn’t quite sure what it is, her guess, is that Kara is a shocking reminder about the life that Clark might have had. Physical proof of his alien-ness. Inescapable, and now he has to confront the reality of that truth.

“She’s miserable,” he adds. “She avoids being alone with me. She likes Lois better. You and Dad better. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

“You’re afraid of her. And she knows it.”

Clark shudders, wiping at his eyes and pulling away from Martha, just a bit. “I’m not…” he sighs. “I’m _trying,_ ” he insists, and Martha knows this to be true. She’s watched him with her, anyone who’s spent two minutes watching the pair of ‘em could see it. Kara can see it—but she’s a child, cut off from everything and everyone that she’s ever known, and it’s not her job to make Clark feel comfortable.

“I know you are,” Martha rubs his back, then moves to make them both some tea.

“What was it like when you first found me?” he asks.

“Hard as shit.”

Clark laughs, sharp, watching her intently. “Really?”

“Hardest thing I’ve ever done. Scariest, too.”

“Because I was an alien?”

“No,” Martha hums. “But that didn’t exactly help matters. I was just scared of you. Scared I would do something wrong—something that you mess you up in a permanent way. Something I couldn’t take back.”

“That’s how I feel,” he admits. “And I’m not even trying to be her dad. I’m just… I don’t know what I’m trying to be.”

Martha turns around to face him head on. She brushes some hair out of his eyes, brilliantly blue and a little watery, still. “All you gotta do is be her family. A connection to Krypton. Everything else will work itself out hon.”

“How’d you stop being scared?”

Martha passes him a mug of tea, kisses the top of his head. “I haven’t figure that out, just yet. If I do, I’ll let you know.”

…

…

Martha isn’t much surprised the day that Kara shows up at her doorstep, wringing her hands together as a crease develops between her eyebrows, asking her if she’s got any material left over from making Clark’s suit. Two days shy of her high school graduation. Martha has to force herself not to chuckle. Clark owes Lois twenty dollars.

Instead, she pivots, smiling as she moves back towards the den and calls over her shoulder, “Go and put the kettle on then. While I dig it out.”

Kara has already made them five mugs of tea—just in case they need any extras—by the time that Martha comes down to take her measurements. It’s mostly for show. Martha pulls out some fabric once she’s gone through the motions to check and holds it up. “That should fit just fine, then,” she decides.

Kara’s mouth drops open wide. “You… already had it made?”

Martha shrugs, holding it up in front of Kara’s body. She’s had at least part of it made since Kara was fifteen. “I had a feeling it might come in handy, some day.”

Kara’s breath goes watery, and Martha only has a second to prepare herself for a crushing hug.

…

…

Lois has rules.

Kara’s mouth tucks into a frown, but Clark and Jonathan are both flanking Lois, agreeing with everything she says while Martha does the daily crossword over on the couch.

“College is important,” Lois says. “You’re so smart, and this is _not_ going to get in the way of your education. I had to basically tie Lucy into her desk, at one point. I’ll figure out a way to do it with you too, don’t think I won’t.”

“Lois, I don’t—”

“Only on the weekends,” she declares. “Weekdays if there is a _brief emergency,_ then go fast and call Clark to finish the job.”

“Lois—”

“I mean it!” she hollers, surprising herself. Clark and Jonathan nod vigorously while Lois huffs out a breath and calms down. She walks over and slings her arms around Kara’s neck, hugging tight and whispering low in her ear. Kara’s arms snake around her automatically, and she’s nodding, not looking as annoyed, now. Martha watches Clark pointedly look away and start talking to Jonathan—giving them some semblance of privacy.

Kara turns around and meets Martha’s eye. “What do you think?”

Lois does her level best to hide any hint of disappointment at that, but Martha catches it. Kara doesn’t, thank god. She’s too focused on Martha. On Clark.

“I think Lois is right,” Martha says, pushing her puzzle away and standing up. Slow-like, she doesn’t move quite as fast as she used to, nowadays. Lois’s shoulders droop in relief, and this time, Kara notices. “Clark didn’t become Superman full time till he was twenty-four. Even if you do as Lois asks, you’ll still have him beat by three years.”

“Ma,” he protests, weakly.

Kara’s laughing, smiling and eager to please now. “Okay, fine. Part time only. Homework comes first,” she agrees.

Lois catches Martha’s eye, mouths, _thank you,_ and Martha only sips at her tea, shrugging through her smile.

…

…

She’s just about two weeks shy of her sixty-eighth birthday when the storm hits.

Metaphorically, this time.

Turns out, Kara and Clark weren’t the last survivors of Krypton. Turns out, Kara’s aunt—the goddamn equivalent to an environmental terrorist, as far as Martha can tell—made it out with a pack of prisoners. Turns out, she’s hellbent on destroying this planet for reasons that don’t make no goddamn sense any way you shake it.

Kara loves her something fierce, though.

Martha watches them fight on the news, calls up Clark and hollers at him to get his ass across the goddamn country _right now,_ and to come and get her the _minute_ that it’s over. Lois comes bursting through the front door only minutes later, tearing up a ruckus and hollering about how Clark left her behind, and _how dare he,_ as she makes her way into the den.

“What the hell did we let her move across the country for?” she yells, pacing in front of the tv.

“She’s twenty-four. We don’t let her do anything, anymore.”

“I DO!” Lois tries to yell. Tries to be angry. A good fifteen years worth of knowing her tells Martha that she’s trying real hard to grasp for anger right now, cause otherwise, all she’s got left choked up inside her throat is white hot fear. Martha knows, cause she’s feeling rather the same right now, all things considered. She’s just better at hiding it than Lois is.

Martha gets Lois to sit, gets a good hold of her hand and grips it tight, and Lois stops shaking, a bit. By the time that Jonathan comes in from the field and joins them, that group Kara sometimes works with has shown up along with Clark. Martha doesn’t know all the details, but she knows that Clark doesn’t like them, and that Kara won’t shut up about some girl named Alex who’s basically become her partner. Martha’s not as worried as Clark. Kara’s always had a harder time making friends than Clark has, talking about Alex makes her light up in a way that’s rare and wonderful to see. And she’s glad, that Kara’s got someone over there who is watching her back.

Lois had slapped Clark and told him to _chill the fuck out Smallville, she’s a big girl._ Of course, right after he had harrumphed and walked outside to find Jonathan, Lois had rounded on Kara and lectured her about constantly questioning shady government agencies for a good forty-five minutes.

The woman that must be Alex—if Kara’s descriptions are enough to go by—stabs Astra through the chest with a kryptonite sword before she releases something that probably would have killed them all. Alex looks panicked by her actions, and chucks the sword away as the woman falls to the ground. Kara’s clinging to her in seconds, Clark and Alex, and that Martian hovering anxiously behind her. Lois breathes out wet and heavy, and Martha pulls her hand away, standing and pushing Jonathan down into her spot. He tugs Lois into his arms, looking at Martha in worry as she waves him off and walks into the kitchen.

There aren’t any kids with super hearing around to catch her, so Martha’s shoulders shudder and she breaks down crying, clinging to the edge of the sink for support. The wobbly, desperate look on Kara’s face as she clutched her aunt’s body, and the horrified and worried look on Clark’s as he watched on won’t leave her be, and Martha shakes and shakes and shakes until Jonathan comes in and holds her.

“Goddammit,” she mumbles, into his chest.

“Goddammit,” he agrees, kissing her temple.

…

…

Kara shows up with Clark a few hours later, somber as the day that he found her.

Lois has been a bundle of nerves for hours, and she takes one look at her and says, “Thank god, I was so worried,” except for that it comes out as, “what the hell were you thinking?” She tugs Kara into a fiercely tight hug, reaching her arm out for Clark too, and Martha’s got a hell of a grip on Jonathan’s hand as she watches the three of ‘em that he is doing wonders not complaining about.

It’s all just a bit too much, for a long breath.

“I made tea,” Martha says, voice coming out thicker than she wants it too. Both her kids look up sharp-like and study her. Martha squares her shoulders and meets their gazes head on. Both kids nod. Except that, they aren’t kids anymore, either of ‘em. Martha has watched them fight off things that she doesn’t even want to think about. Has watched them grow from awkward, coltish little things, into the strong, determined people that they are today, and every minute of it hurt, even while it was wonderful. “Come on,” she orders. “Everyone go into the den. Jonathan, come help me with the mugs.”

As she passes by Clark, she drops a kiss to the top of his head. One to Kara’s cheek. Then the pushes them both towards Lois, towards the couch, as she hurries into the kitchen, Jonathan shuffling behind her. Martha grabs for all of the mugs at once, the hot water threatening to spill over and burn her skin.

“Martha, be careful,” Jonathan warns.

Martha gives him two of the mugs. “I’m always careful.”

“You are _never_ careful,” he smiles, making his way back into the den.  

He’s not entirely wrong. 


End file.
